A Fever in the Heart and Other True Cases

by Ann Rule

  Wide-awake, the Blaines discussed what they should do. It looked as if their neighbors had had a spat and the husband had left to cool off. They didn’t know the couple except to nod and say “Hi” when they happened to meet. The wife was always friendly, but her husband seemed aloof. If they didn’t even know the couple’s names, they certainly hadn’t the faintest idea about the state of their marriage. The only times they had heard any loud noise from the other side of the wall was when the couple had parties, and that had not happened very often.

  It was after 4:30 A.M. when the Blaines finally decided they should notify the police; they couldn’t forget the screams they had heard. If the girl next door was all right they would feel a little foolish, but feeling foolish was worth peace of mind.

  Their call came into the Marion County Sheriffs radio room at 4:47 A.M. Corporal Tim Taylor and Deputy Ralph Nicholson were dispatched to Cedar Court. They knocked on the door of the neat duplex, but there was no response. Since the Blaines didn’t know their neighbors’ last name, Taylor gave the radio operator the license plate number on the Volkswagen parked there and asked for a check on the registered owner. The owners came back as Lori Susan* and Walter Louis Buckley*. Taylor asked the operator to look up the Buckleys’ phone number and telephone the residence. Soon, he heard the lonely sound of a phone ringing again and again in the empty apartment.

  If there was anyone inside, they either would not—or could not—answer the phone.

  The Blaines were positive that the woman who lived next door had not left with her husband in the Vega. They pointed out that her car, the Volkswagen, was still parked there. Tim Taylor contacted the man who owned the duplexes. Even though it was still very early in the morning, he said he would be right over with a key to open the door for the deputies.

  The door to the Buckleys’ duplex swung open and the deputies stepped in. They saw that the place was immaculate. Tentatively, the two sheriffs officers peered into each room, calling out the Buckleys’ names. No one answered. There wasn’t that much to look at; there was a living-dining area, a kitchen, and two bedrooms. The southeast bedroom looked as if it were being used for storage. A drawer had been left pulled out in one chest. Oddly, there was a pile of walnuts on the floor in front of it.

  The master bedroom—the southwest bedroom—was the room that shared a common wall with the Blaines’ bedroom. It was as neat as the rest of the house. The queen-sized bed had been stripped of sheets, and clean sheets rested atop the mattress as if someone had begun to change the bed linen.

  There were no visible signs of violence. The missing bedding was something of a puzzle, but then Doug Blaine had said it looked as if Buckley had been carrying laundry to the car. Well, that’s why twenty-four-hour Laundromats stayed in business. People did their laundry at all times of the day and night.

  Even though he hadn’t found anything suspicious inside the empty duplex, Tim Taylor radioed in that he felt there should be a recheck of the premises in daylight: “The occupants will probably be back by then,” he said.

  Taylor left his business card on the dining room table with a note asking the Buckleys to call the sheriff’s office on their return. Then they could write the complaint off in a simple FIR (Field Investigation Report).

  But there were no calls from the Buckley duplex. Six hours later, Deputy Bernie Papenfus returned to the Cedar Court address and knocked on the door. There still was no response. But now in daylight, Papenfus noticed a faint red spot on the front step. It looked very much like dried blood. Once again, the landlord, who had also felt strangely troubled since he had opened the door for the deputies at five that morning, produced a key.

  Their voices hushed, Papenfus and the landlord entered the duplex. It was bright and airy; the sun was shining through the windows. The home had been decorated with charm and good taste, with paintings, plants, and a wine rack with bottles of homemade wine bearing the Buckleys’ names. Wicker lamps and end tables complemented the furniture. There was nothing out of place in the living room—not even a magazine or newspaper.

  They moved to the master bedroom. Papenfus’s trained eye noted another reddish stain that was barely visible on the rust carpet in the bedroom. Still the room looked normal enough.

  But cops see things that other people don’t. Papenfus’s throat tightened a little as he saw that the blue-flowered mattress was not sitting square on the springs. He raised it. The underside was a mass of bloody stains. Blood had soaked into the surface and it was still damp.

  Hurrying now, Papenfus looked for more signs that something violent had taken place in this little duplex unit. He didn’t have to look far. There were more dried scarlet streaks on the towel cupboard and on the entryway into the kitchen. The stains on the carpet were blurred, as if someone had tried to rub them out.

  Deputy Bernie Papenfus had seen enough; something terrible had happened here during the night. Careful not to use the phone in the Buckleys’ duplex, he radioed Sheriff Jim Heenan’s office and asked that detectives respond to what could now only be considered a “possible homicide.”

  Lieutenant Kilburn McCoy and Sergeant Will Hingston left their offices in Salem and headed for the address on Cedar Court. Lieutenant James Byrnes, chief of detectives, and Detective Dave Kominek had left Salem very early to attend a narcotics conference in Portland. En-route, McCoy radioed Byrnes to stand by because the circumstances at the Buckley home were most suspicious.

  Byrnes would not be going to Portland after all.

  Kilburn McCoy learned that Lori Buckley, who was twenty-six, was employed as a sixth grade teacher at the Highland Elementary School in Salem. It was possible that she was in her classroom, teaching. That would explain why she was not in the apartment at eleven A.M. on a Wednesday morning. He called the school and learned that Lori Buckley was not there. However, she had arranged to have a substitute because she had a dental appointment scheduled for Wednesday morning. She was not due at school until the afternoon sessions. The school office staff didn’t know her dentist’s name. They gave the detectives the phone numbers for Lori Buckley’s relatives, suggesting that they might know her dentist.

  While they waited to hear from Lori Buckley’s family, the Marion County detectives moved around her home. They found more and more bloodstains marring the otherwise immaculate apartment.

  Whatever had happened here, the scene had to be protected. Hingston and Papenfus strung heavy rope, cordoning off the entire property from the sidewalk back, and posted a sign that read, POLICE LINE: DO NOT ENTER. They half expected Lori and Walt Buckley to come driving up and ask them what in the world they were doing. But no one came by except curious drivers who gawked at the rope and the sign.

  Finally armed with the name of Lori Buckley’s dentist, McCoy called his office, only to find that Lori had not shown up for her appointment. It was to have been a preliminary session for a long-term teeth-straightening procedure. Lori’s dentist was concerned when she didn’t keep her appointment or even call. He said she was always thoughtful about calling to cancel if she could not make an appointment.

  Lori Buckley’s family arrived at her duplex, worried and completely mystified. They talked with detectives outside, since no one but police personnel could go in until the place had been processed. Her family said that Lori and Walt had been happily married for four years. Lori had been teaching since her graduation from Oregon College of Education. Walt was attending Oregon State University in Corvallis. He was about to graduate with a degree in accounting. Lori’s folks commented that Walt had recently applied to become an FBI agent. He had told them about the fifteen-page form he had to fill out, laughing about what specific details the Bureau wanted to know about every facet of his background.

  Asked if it was possible that Lori and Walt had gotten into a brawl, her family was aghast. They could not imagine such a thing. That just wasn’t possible. Lori and Walt just didn’t have that kind of a marriage. They had never known them to have any kind of physical
confrontation.

  The Marion County detectives wondered if it was possible that someone had entered the Buckleys’ duplex during the night. Doug Blaine had admitted he didn’t know the neighbors that well. He had seen a man going out to his neighbors’ car and he thought it had been the man who lived next door, but he admitted he could have been mistaken. Could the Buckleys have been abducted by someone who had injured one—or both—of them?

  Doug Blaine said he hadn’t seen Lori Buckley at all. Just her husband with his arms full of laundry.

  In whatever manner Lori had left her duplex, she wasn’t there now. A thorough search of the apartment proved that. She wasn’t in the closets or in the crawl spaces. She and her husband were both missing.

  The Oregon State Police Crime Lab and ID Bureau in Portland responded by sending criminalists to the scene. Sergeant William Zeller and Troopers Sherie Kindler, Cliff Daimler, and George Matsuda set out at once to help. Chief of Detectives Jim Byrnes and Detective Dave Kominek were already on their way back from Portland.

  It was apparent that someone had been gravely injured in this apartment. The bloodstains on the underside of the blue mattress measured between four and ten inches in diameter. That much blood could not have come from a minor cut.

  Doug Blaine described again for the detectives what he had heard. “I’ve never heard a scream like that before. It was kind of a moaning scream like someone was being hurt, not like someone had just knocked the coffeepot off.”

  The Sheriff’s Office sent out a teletype on the missing couple to all police agencies in the area. They were described as Walter L. “Walt” Buckley, twenty-six years old, 5′9″ tall. He weighed 180 pounds and had light brown hair and a mustache. Lori Buckley was 5′5″,” weighed 130 pounds and had long brown hair. Their missing car was a light green Chevrolet Vega bearing Oregon plates: DRY255.

  Detectives canvassed the neighborhood along Cedar Court looking for someone else who might have seen or heard anything unusual during the early morning hours. But no one had.

  A complete crime scene search of the duplex and its carefully tended yard disclosed more unusual or misplaced items. There was a Tab bottle cap on the kitchen counter, and bits of a Tab label and pieces of bottle glass under the sewing machine in the master bedroom. There were fragments of bloodstained glass behind the dresser on the north wall. There was evidence of blood residue in the bathtub and on the drain plug.

  The clean, folded flower-patterned sheets that rested on the blue mattress were flecked with blood: A man’s large-sized T-shirt and a knit shirt taken from a clothing basket in the bedroom were slightly stained with some red material. All of the bloodstains were tested and proved to be Type A.

  An amazing response to the sheriff’s teletype came from the Oregon State Police office in Lincoln City, a resort town on the Oregon coast. The state police reported that a Lori Buckley had been killed that morning in a traffic accident along the Van Duzer Corridor. The corridor is a winding highway between the Pacific Ocean coast towns and inland cities. The fatal accident in which Lori Buckley had been killed was almost fifty miles from the duplex where she lived.

  The detectives shook their heads. How could that be? How could the Blaines have heard screams on the other side of their bedroom wall at three A.M. when Lori was in an accident so far away? If they had been men who believed in ghosts, which very few detectives are, they might have come up with some otherworldly scenarios.

  It took the Marion County detectives a number of phone calls before they established that Walt Buckley was alive but had been injured in the accident that killed his wife. The Oregon State Police said he had been taken to a hospital in Lincoln City in Lincoln County.

  The next report that seemed connected to the increasingly peculiar case was a call from Sergeant Lee Miller of the Polk County Sheriff’s Office. Polk County lies between Marion County and Lincoln County and the Buckleys would have had to pass through it to get to Lincoln City. Miller said a hiker had found a pile of bloody bedding—sheets, blankets, a bedspread, and a mattress pad—among the forest undergrowth along Mill Creek Road in Polk County. Jim Byrnes checked the description of the bed linen against that of the list of the bedding found in the Buckleys’ duplex. He found many similarities.

  Byrnes and Dave Kominek left Salem and headed over to the coast. Crime lab technicians went to Polk County to pick up and bag the blood-soaked bedding found along a narrow, dirt, logging road.

  When Jim Byrnes and Dave Kominek arrived at the scene of the fatal traffic accident, the Buckleys’ Vega had already been towed away. They parked at Mile Post 14 on Highway 18 at 4:20 P.M., aware that there was precious little daylight left. But they could see where the Vega had gone off the shoulder of the road. It had crushed vegetation when it went over the bank and then dropped about twelve feet through a thick stand of fir trees. The two Marion County investigators commented to each other that there were no skid marks or torn-up areas on the shoulder of the highway; there were only parallel tracks in the soft dirt and grass.

  Oregon State Troopers Michael Luka and Wayne Price had been the first to respond to the report of the accident. A log truck driver had called for help over his CB radio. The trucker told the troopers that he had seen a man lying beside the road shortly after eight that morning. He had managed to call for an ambulance by relaying his emergency request through two other CB-ers.

  “Then I got out of my rig and ran to help the guy in the road.”

  “Did he say anything?” Luka had asked.

  The trucker had shaken his head. “He kept repeating, ‘Lori. Lori.’ Then I looked down through the trees and spotted the green car down in there.”

  Luka and Price told the Marion County detectives that they found Lori Buckley lying outside the Vega. Her feet had been partially under the right door, and her head was resting on a pillow. Someone had covered her with coats. But Lori Buckley had been dead for a long time when the troopers got to her.

  They had photographed her body where it lay in the fir forest, and then released it to a mortuary. Her husband, Walt Buckley, had been rushed to Lincoln City for treatment.

  There was no question that the Walt and Lori Buckley who had been in the accident along the Van Duzer Corridor were the same Walt and Lori Buckley who lived on Cedar Court. But Jim Byrnes and Dave Kominek were still trying to figure out just how they ended up miles away, almost at the Pacific Ocean.

  Walt Buckley had given statements about the accident to Trooper Price—both at the scene and at the hospital.

  According to Price, he had explained that he and his wife had left Salem the afternoon before. They had planned to drive to the coast for dinner. They had eaten at the popular Pixie Kitchen in Lincoln City. He said they had decided to drive south a short way to have an after-dinner drink at the lounge in the plush Salishan Lodge. Buckley told Price he and his wife had left for Salem about midnight. They were on their way home when the accident occurred.

  Buckley said they had lain in the ditch beside the highway all night waiting for help. He had done what he could to make his wife comfortable and to keep her warm.

  The ambulance attendant who had transported Walt Buckley told the detectives that Buckley had been very tense—so tense that he had held his arms tight against his chest. Both of his fists were tightly clenched and full of dirt and grass. He had kept his eyes closed and mumbled incoherently as the EMT checked him for injuries. Although he had appeared to be seriously hurt, his injuries had proved to be only superficial.

  It had looked like a normal, if tragic, accident. At her husband’s request, Lori Buckley’s body was scheduled to be embalmed as soon as possible. However, the mortician who removed her body from the accident scene had been busy that Wednesday afternoon and several hours passed before he began the embalming procedure. He had just made the first cut-an incision into the femoral artery of the thigh when the phone rang and Dave Kominek told him to stop immediately. Nothing was to be done to the body until the accident investigat
ion was complete.

  Kominek went to the mortuary and viewed the corpse of Lori Buckley. He noted immediately that she had suffered many, many deep cuts around her face and shoulders. It would take a complete postmortem examination to establish the cause of death, but her injuries seemed far too severe to have been sustained in a car wreck in which the vehicle was damaged as slightly as the Vega had been. There had been only minimal damage to the right front fender and grill. The windshield on the right, where Lori had reportedly been sitting, was shattered in a wide “spiderweb,” but it had not been broken clean through. It was safety glass with no sharp edges that might have cut her face and upper body. Odd.

  Kominek received the clothing that Lori Buckley had worn when she was found. He looked at the blood-soaked blue-and-white checked blouse and the jeans. There were no cuts or tears in the clothing.

  Marion County detectives questioned even what seemed obvious. They interviewed personnel at both the Pixie Kitchen and the Salishan Lodge about the evening of February 24 to see if anyone remembered serving the Buckleys. The Pixie Kitchen, which was usually jammed with lines of people waiting to get in, had been rather quiet on Tuesday night, but none of the waitresses remembered serving the couple. One waitress said she would have remembered Lori particularly because she had been saving to get braces for her daughter and she noticed anyone with a similar dental problem. The Pixie Kitchen cashier said there had been no out-of-town checks or credit cards used by customers on Tuesday night.

  The cocktail waitresses and the bartender at Salishan Lodge were positive they had not served drinks to the Buckleys.